


Caved In

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Whump, Basically Lots of Whump, Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Porthos Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Musketeers are captured by a criminal cartel operating out of an unstable cave system, Athos is forced to make a difficult decision. Can he bring himself to leave two brothers behind? And how will they fare when the consequences come crashing down around them? No slash unless you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This fic was born from a random idea I had when I should've been working on one of my two in-progress stories, so naturally I dropped everything to write all three chapters in the course of two days. Athos insisted. I'll try to get one up every other day since they're already finished :)
> 
> If guilt were a maze, it would be a cave, and it would fall on Athos. What's in this cave? The darkness of lacking hope, the bright lives of his brothers, the burden of responsibility, and each of the boys' astounding abilities to self-sacrifice. Athos' spirit is strong and sturdy, like the solid rock of the walls, but all it takes is one crack and everything threatens to crumble.

Athos wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten into this mess, though he was fairly certain that he was in no way to blame. It was probably Aramis's fault. Or maybe D'Artagnan's. And Porthos had been acting suspiciously too.

But whoever's fault it was, they were well and truly in trouble. Athos was sitting back to back with D'Artagnan, their wrists bound so tightly together to an iron ring set in the floor that he had lost almost all sensation. Aramis and Porthos were in a similar state nearby.

It should have been an easy mission: investigate the disturbance in a series of underground caves near a small village less than a day's ride outside of Paris and return when it was sorted out. But the 'slight disturbance' had turned out to mean 'secret underground criminal cartel,' and they had not taken kindly to Musketeers snooping around.

So here they were, trussed up like turkeys with no means of escape. Three men were muttering to themselves, circling like sharks as they watched them. Athos could sense their wariness. He smirked.

They were right to be wary.

Footsteps echoed on hard stones outside and Athos glanced towards the door, noting the way their guards stood up straighter. Whoever was coming must be important.

A moment later a tall figure strode through the jagged archway to their miserable prison. A sneer was already plastered across what little of his face wasn't badly pockmarked. He had an aura of cruelty that Athos sensed he'd have no trouble using against his brothers.

A threat, then. And a serious one, considering their defenseless state.

"What is the problem?" the man hissed. His voice had a sibilant quality and seemed to reverberate off the walls. "I told you to stash them somewhere and return at once."

"We was goin' to," one of the men said hesitantly. "'Cept we was worried they might escape, so maybe one of us ought to stay and guard 'em?"

D'Artagnan shifted restlessly at Athos's back, clearly already considering the idea. Athos could feel where D'Artagnan's blood had seeped into Athos's own sleeve from a cut on the boy's arm, but thankfully it was shallow.

Porthos had also been injured; he'd taken the butt of a pistol to the head when he tried to fight his captors long after a normal man would have surrendered.

Athos supposed he ought to be grateful for his friend's hard head. A normal man would have a cracked skull, but Porthos was hardly affected by the blow whatsoever.

"A guard will not be necessary," the scarred man said haughtily.

Athos fought the urge to smirk at his arrogance. It might actually be enjoyable to wipe the smug look off his face.

"But what if'n they escape and go fer help?" one of the goons asked timidly.

The leader fixed him with a cold glare, stalking forward until he was standing next to Aramis and Porthos, who were nearest to the door.

"I've heard," he began, eyes meeting Athos's with cold intelligence. "That the king's Musketeers never leave a man behind. Is that true?"

No one spoke for a moment, and the man's face hardened. In a motion quicker than Athos could follow, his hand leapt and caught Porthos a ringing blow across the jaw.

Porthos rocked backwards against Aramis, who tried to crane his neck over his shoulder to check on the large Musketeer. The bastard must have known Porthos had a head injury, for now he smiled cruelly, flexing his hand menacingly.

"I'm still waiting for an answer," he said softly. His hand rose slightly, as if to hit Porthos again.

Aramis stopped him, as Athos knew he would. "Yes, it's true."

The man smiled at him, a cruel, predatory thing. "How interesting." He stepped neatly around Porthos, still sagging slightly against Aramis, and turned to look at Athos once more.

"You see, men, we will not need to set a guard, because our friends here won't be escaping. That is, not unless they want to leave a man behind."

Faster than Athos could follow, his foot shot out and stamped down with all his strength on Aramis's ankle.

The crack of breaking bone nearly drowned out Aramis's agonized gasp, but it wasn't enough to mask Porthos's enraged cry. He threw himself against his bonds, straining to get to the sneering man, but stopped suddenly when his motions jarred Aramis, drawing a pained sound from the other Musketeer.

The man's cruel smile only grew as Aramis attempted to hunch forward over his broken leg. His foot was lying at an awkward, twisted angle that made Athos's stomach roll.

"I really doubt he'll be escaping on that," the bastard said, feigning concern in a manner that made Athos's fingers itch to tighten around his throat. "Enjoy your stay."

With that he turned, intentionally brushing against Aramis's leg as he went and drawing another hissed breath from the man.

As soon as his cronies had filed out behind him dutifully, Porthos growled aloud, trying to twist his head around to look at Aramis without jarring the injured man further, but their arms were bound together from wrists to elbows, and after a moment Athos watched him sink back to simmering stillness, fury written on his thunderous face.

Aramis's face had drained of all color, and his breath was coming in sharp pants. "Aramis," Porthos murmured. There was a helpless quality in his voice that made Athos want to break something.

"I'm fine," Aramis gasped.

"Your leg is broken!" D'Artagnan pointed out, his voice higher than usual with worry.

"Really?" Aramis actually managed a faint smile, much to Athos's surprise. "I hadn't noticed."

"How bad?" Athos asked quietly, concern curling in his belly. Porthos turned to look at him, obviously deciding that if he couldn't see Aramis then he'd at least watch someone who could.

"Clean break, I think," Aramis ground out. His foot twitched slightly and he groaned under his breath. The sound made Porthos stiffen against him. "Hard to tell without being able to feel it, but I don't think it's too bad."

"But it's still broken," D'Artagnan pointed out.

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious," Athos said dryly. He turned his attention back to Aramis, who even by the faint torchlight from the tunnel outside had gone visibly greenish. "Is there any chance you could walk on it?"  
He knew the answer even before Aramis shook his head wearily. "No, I don't think so," he muttered, letting his head fall back to rest against Porthos's shoulder. The larger Musketeer shifted slightly to give him a better angle, resting his cheek against Aramis's hair.

Athos sighed bitterly, realizing that the leader of the cartel had cleaved through all his burgeoning escape plans in one go by hobbling Aramis.

His sigh must have been louder than he thought, for Aramis rolled his head around to look over at him. "You should go," he said quietly. "You can bring reinforcements."

Behind him, Porthos had gone very still. "If you're fucking suggesting we leave you…" he began furiously, but Athos cut him off.

"I think we'd be better off sticking together for now," he said diplomatically, trying to ignore the burning glare Porthos was vainly attempting to shoot at Aramis.

"What, just wait until they decide to kill us?" D'Artagnan sounded indignant, and Athos knew he, too, was trying to glare at him. "Why did they even capture us in the first place?"

"That is precisely what I would like to find out before we make any sort of escape attempt," Athos said patiently.

He felt D'Artagnan shiver against him and cursed the fact that their captors had ambushed them in their own camp, so the only one still wearing his jacket was Porthos. The caves were bitterly cold, and Athos did not doubt the temperature would serve to make them lethargic, further complicating any plans to escape.

Aramis had turned his face away once more, resting tiredly against Porthos, and Athos decided that since there was nothing better to do, they might as well get some sleep. "You need to get some rest, all of you," he said, ignoring D'Artagnan's snort of disbelief. "We'll have no chance of going anywhere if we're exhausted."

D'Artagnan grumbled behind him for a few minutes more, but at last he awkwardly propped his head against Athos's shoulder. Soon enough he was snoring.

Porthos lasted longer, sitting as still as possible so as not to jostle Aramis, but at last the long journey and the battle caught up with him. Soon he joined the chorus of snores.

Athos was contemplating taking his own advice when Aramis suddenly lifted his head from Porthos's shoulder, slowly turning to look at Athos.

 _Is he asleep?_ he mouthed, tilting his head at the large Musketeer.

Athos raised an eyebrow as another snore rippled through the cave. _What do you think?_

Aramis sighed, glancing down at his leg. Athos followed his gaze and winced. The area around his ankle had swollen noticeably, straining against the leather of his boot. His foot still flopped at an unnatural angle that made Athos feel nauseous.

"Athos," Aramis murmured, voice pitched low to keep from waking the others. "You know you have to escape."

Athos looked away. "We are not discussing this, Aramis."

"Yes, we are," Aramis insisted. "If you don't go for backup, we'll all be killed. You know this. Whatever reason they kept us alive, it's not a good one."

"That is immaterial. Porthos will never leave without you."

"But you can."

Athos blinked at the statement. It was true. He would hate it, and the guilt would be churn like acid in his gut, but he could leave Aramis behind, hidden somewhere safe, if it freed him to go for reinforcements. It was the cold, logical decision, and Athos hated himself for being able to make it, but he could.

"You and D'Artagnan need to escape," Aramis continued grimly. "I know you have a way to get free. Free us all, and then Porthos and I can find somewhere to hide if I can't convince him to go with you too."

Athos couldn't help it: he actually snorted with unexpected laughter.

Aramis eyed him crossly. "Yes, yes, I know it's unlikely, but maybe he'll listen for once in his life," he muttered.

"He isn't going to like this," Athos pointed out, the moment of levity lost.

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Why do you think we are discussing this while he is asleep?"

"Fair enough."

"Now, do you or do you not have a way to get free?" Aramis asked. Athos blinked, reaching around with careful fingers until he brushed the back of his belt. Sliding his fingers along the underside, he came at last upon the carefully concealed razor that he'd had worked into the belt itself.

"Yes, I do."

Aramis smiled. The expression was bleak against his pale face. "Good. Cut yourself free and try not to wake D'Artagnan. Then do me."

"Why can't I wake D'Artagnan?" Athos asked, slightly thrown by the fact that Aramis was giving the orders.

"Because he'll wake Porthos, and the pair of you will want to be ready to go long before we free Porthos, or he'll threaten to bring the whole place down upon you if he thinks you're planning to leave me." He caught Athos's eye and grinned wryly. "I love him, but he can be an idiot at times like this."

Athos nodded. He could imagine exactly how Porthos would react to the idea that they leave Aramis behind, even if he did insist on staying with him.

His fingers had gone numb from the tight restraints, so it took him a lot of slow, careful sawing at his bonds before he was finally free. His bonds fell away, freeing D'Artagnan as well, though miraculously the boy slumbered on even when Atos carefully extricated the shoulder he'd been using as a pillow. He rubbed some feeling back into his hands before scuttling over to Aramis.

"So, fearless leader, what's the plan?" Aramis asked as Athos cut him free. He tried to grin cheekily, but it fell flat in the face of his evident exhaustion.

"This place is built like a warren. The way they brought us in looked seldom used, so we'll head out that way and do our best to avoid detection. Once we get out, we'll head back to the garrison and return with reinforcements."

Aramis raised his eyebrows at him. "That's your master plan?"

"I didn't have much time to think of anything better," Athos shrugged. Aramis's bonds came away at last and he tried to haul his arms around, hissing as circulation picked up once more.

"We'd best wake the others," he whispered. "D'Artagnan first."

Athos nodded and headed over to D'Artagnan, placing a hand over his mouth before shaking him lightly. For simplicity's sake, he left it there until he had finished explaining the plan, cutting off the inevitable questions.

Once D'Artagnan had been brought up to speed, and his dozen questions answered concisely, Aramis twisted slightly to shake Porthos's shoulder, wincing as he tried to keep his leg still.

Porthos came to abruptly, glancing around wildly for a moment before taking in the fact that they were all free. "What's all this, then?" he growled, shifting carefully until he was bracing Aramis up with the side of his shoulder rather than his back.

"It's an escape, obviously," Aramis muttered. "Athos will lead you all out the entrance tunnel and-"

Really, it was surprising he made it that far before Porthos cut him off with a growl. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Porthos, be reasonable," Aramis pleaded. "I can hide away in some forgotten corner and be perfectly safe while you ride off for help."

"They can ride off and we'll both hide in some forgotten corner," Porthos said stubbornly, glowering at Athos as if daring him to argue.

"We haven't time to discuss this. D'Artagnan and I will go for help. Do you need our assistance in finding a suitable cave?"

Porthos shook his head. Aramis broke in once more. "Porthos, please, just go with them. I'll be-"

"Not going anywhere." Porthos didn't even look at him as he said it, already shifting to clamber to his feet. Aramis swayed alarmingly at the loss of support but managed to keep upright.

Porthos reached down and hauled him to his feet with a gentleness that belied his size and seemed reserved exclusively for Aramis. The smaller man failed to fully bite back a groan at the motion but stayed on his feet once up.

Athos looked at them and felt fear clench his heart. So many things could happen while he was gone, and he had no way of knowing if he and D'Artagnan would return in time. But they had no choice, and so with a heavy heart he murmured, "Be safe," and clasped their hands.

As he led D'Artagnan down the corridor, he thought he heard Aramis murmur, "God go with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think so far? Let me know in the reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: If guilt is the cave, shock is the winding tunnels and empty spaces. The cold that's seeped into the rock, the dust that blinds, and that tiny, niggling doubt that you might close your eyes, just for a little bit, and risk never seeing daylight again.

Athos and D'Artagnan had barely disappeared down the tunnel when he felt Porthos's glare on him. Lifting his head wearily, he met a pair of frustrated brown eyes.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Porthos growled.

"Does it matter? It's the right decision. We couldn't just sit around waiting for that bastard to show up and slit out throats, could we?"

Porthos did not look convinced. "I don't like this. You can't even walk."

"Nonsense," Aramis said bracingly. He then made the huge mistake of trying to step forward, away from Porthos's side.

When the blackness receded he found himself being almost fully supported by the large Musketeer. "That may have been a bad idea," he gasped, letting Porthos take the rest of his weight.

"You think?" Porthos growled, but he could sense the concern beneath the anger. "We gotta get somewhere less exposed, now."

Aramis nodded, allowing himself to be half supported, half carried through the tunnels. Even with almost all his weight on Porthos, every step sent agony shooting up his leg.

It was nearly pitch black in the tunnels, as they'd opted to leave the torch burning outside their former prison. To carry it would just give away their location if anyone was nearby, but Aramis found himself desperately wishing they had brought it. Porthos did his best, but in the darkness Aramis's leg bumped against the floor and scraped on the narrow walls.

"Just pick one," he grunted at last, pain making him snap. Porthos muttered an apology and turned into the next yawning entrance they came across. In the darkness it was almost impossible to tell how big it was.

They were just searching for the back wall when the floor shifted beneath them. A faint rumbling sound echoed down the tunnel they'd just left.

"Cave in," Porthos murmured, hand tightening briefly around Aramis's waist. "Do you think they got out?"

"Knowing them, they probably caused it," Aramis grunted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Porthos noticed his restlessness and carefully walked him the rest of the way to the wall, where he sunk down against the cold stone while Porthos hovered anxiously near the entrance.

Aramis let his head hit the wall with a heavy thud, exhausted. He hated feeling useless.

The room was freezing, and after a few minutes his leg began to few numb where it pressed against the stone. He felt like he was forgetting something, something important. He should probably be more concerned about that than he was.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the room before Porthos finally abandoned his post and came back into the cave, apparently deciding they were far enough down that neither the cave in nor their hosts could pose a threat.

Porthos sat down heavily, his shoulder pressing against Aramis's. Warmth coursed through him for a moment. Then Porthos sat forward suddenly, cursing.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, the words feeling heavy in his mouth as Porthos pressed a hand to his arm.

"You're freezing," he said shortly, shifting in the darkness. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Am I?" Aramis struggled to frame a more complicated response and gave up. "Didn't notice."

Now that he was paying attention, he realized he was shivering, his thin shirt and breeches offering little warmth against the cold, and the stone against his back was leeching his warmth.

"Here," Porthos said, his voice now closer to Aramis's ear, and then something heavy and warm was falling about his shoulders. He reached up with stiff fingers and brushed against thick leather.

Porthos's jacket.

He tried to protest that Porthos needed it more than he did, since he'd be the only useful one in a fight, but his mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate, so he settled for shifting the jacket more securely about his shoulders.

A moment later Porthos's arm was encircling him, pulling him away from the stone to rest against his broad chest.

"Some doctor you are," Porthos rumbled. "Can't even tell when you're going into shock."

Shock. That's what it was he had been trying to remember.

"Sorry," he offered, letting Porthos manhandle him into a more comfortable position. Porthos just snorted, tickling his hair.

"Get some sleep."

Aramis shifted, alarm flaring at the edge of his consciousness. "Don't think that's a good idea," he murmured, feeling exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. "Don't think I'm supposed to sleep if 'm in shock."

"Nah, that's head wounds," Porthos said, an affectionate edge to his voice as he finally got Aramis leaning the way he wanted. "And you need the sleep."

"Mmmm," Aramis mumbled. Within moments he gave in to the pull of exhaustion, safe in Porthos's arms.

He woke with a start some time later when Porthos suddenly hauled him to his feet, hands too tight around his arms. He lost his balance and staggered a step on his broken leg before Porthos recovered enough to catch him, jamming a hand over his mouth to block his reflexive cry of pain. The numbness from before was long gone and every movement was agony.

Aramis tried to push him off, but Porthos merely clamped down harder, dragging him further into the cave. His leg bounced off rock and he blacked out for a few moments, coming to just as Porthos hit the far wall

He was caught at an awkward angle between Porthos and the wall and he struggled vainly to push him off. Porthos merely tightened his grasp, hissing "quiet" under his breath.

Aramis froze when he heard what he had missed before; voices echoing down the hallway.

"What if those other ones is down here?" a sniveling voice asked just as a flicker of light became visible outside. Aramis recognized it as one of the men who had been guarding them earlier.

"Then we'll take care of them like we took care of the others." This voice was colder, but Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. Not the tall bastard then. If it had been him, Porthos would have been at his throat already.

Then he tensed, the words sinking into his exhausted mind as Porthos hissed. _Like we took care of the others._

Porthos's grip on his arm was tight enough to bruise as Aramis strained to listen.

"But boss," the sniveling man said. "We don't know if'n that lot is dead. We didn't see no bodies." The voice sounded as if it were right outside their cave now.

"The roof fell on their heads," the cold voice bit out. "I doubt there's anything left."

Porthos made a noise of rage, and Aramis was a second too slow to react in time. His hand clenched against empty air as Porthos pulled away, stalking towards the dark entrance.

"Porthos," he hissed, trying to step after him. His leg buckled and he grabbed at the wall for support. With no way to follow, he would simply have to wait until Porthos returned and pray there were only a few enemies awaiting him.

The thump of a body hitting the ground was like an explosion in the stillness. Aramis could see it happening as if he were in the tunnel himself; Porthos would have snuck up on the first man and taken him down with a blow to the head, possibly using a rock if he could find one.

The ringing of steel sounded a moment later, accompanied by a frightened shout. Ah, yes. He must have taken the downed man's sword.

Aramis leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply in an attempt to stem some of the pain still shooting up his leg. He was just beginning to relax, confident that Porthos could handle this, when he heard a pained grunt, followed by a heavy thump.

He shot upright, nearly toppling over in his haste.

That sounded like Porthos.

Aramis knew he couldn't wait here another moment. He needed to find out what had happened. Using the side of the cave, he was able to hobble over to the tunnel entrance, though his vision wavered and his leg felt as if it were being torn apart.

"Porthos," he whispered into the darkness, straining to see something, anything. The torch the men had been carrying must have gone out in the fight.

Something shifted in the blackness. A shape loomed before him, and for a terrible moment Aramis though it was one of the enemy. Then it stepped closer and Aramis saw the breadth of the shoulders.

Porthos.

"You idiot," he hissed, pushing off the wall to stagger the last step to reach the larger man. "What were you thinking?"

"They were sayin' things about 'thos and D'Artagnan," Porthos mumbled as Aramis braced himself against his chest, his words sounding thick and confused. Aramis pushed back a step.

"Where are you hurt?" Terror flashed through him at the memory of that pained grunt. What if Porthos had been stabbed and he had no way to sew him up?

"One of 'em hit m'head." Aramis sighed, worry taking the place of terror. Porthos had already been bashed across the head too many times today.

"What did you let him go and do that for?" He pulled on Porthos's arm gently, trying to get him back to the cave. His foot rammed against something solid as he turned, and the pain was nearly enough to drop him like a stone. He managed to lean over, fingers brushing the butt of a pistol.

That was a small mercy. He jammed the gun in his belt and tugged on Porthos again.

Porthos followed docilely, but when Aramis tried to lean on him for support, he almost sent them both tumbling to the ground.

Well, that was just perfect.

Half supporting the larger Musketeer, he clung to the wall with his other hand, trying desperately to keep the weight off his leg.

He barely made it inside the tunnel entrance before he had to sink down against the wall he'd been clutching. It was that or pass out. Porthos dropped heavily beside him.

"Ar'mis?" he asked, almost hesitantly. "You alright?"  
Answering would require opening his mouth, and he thought he might throw up if he did that, so Aramis simply found Porthos's hand in the dark and squeezed it, hoping it would be enough to reassure him in his mildly concussed state.

After a few minutes he could breathe again without feeling his head spin from the pain in his leg, so he tugged on Porthos's arm to draw him closer. "Let's see your head."

Porthos shuffled closer obligingly. "But it's dark."

Aramis sighed. "Obviously. But I can at least feel the edges of the wound."

Porthos grunted his understanding and settled against the wall. Aramis ran his fingers through the tight curls, feeling where blood was already beginning to stiffen them. At last he found the wound and breathed a sigh of relief. There was a nasty bump, and Porthos jerked his head away when he pressed on it, but there was no feeling of shifting bone beneath the skin. Just another concussion.

He sat back, dizzy from pain and relief. Reaching around, he settled the pistol across his lap, one hand resting against it readily.

"Am I gonna be okay?" Porthos asked, words slightly less slurred.

Aramis leaned against him, the slight movement sending agony flaring up his leg. "Yes, you'll be fine."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then: "Ar'mis?"

"Yes, Porthos?"

"Are you gonna be okay?"

Aramis sighed heavily, letting his head drop against Porthos's shoulder. He felt the larger man shift to wrap an arm clumsily around his waist. "Yes _, mon cher_ , I'll be fine."

Porthos seemed to think for a moment. "Oh. Good." There was another long pause. "S'rry for makin' you walk 'n carry me."

"Apology accepted," Aramis said, smiling into the darkness despite the pain in his leg as Porthos pulled him more securely against his warm side.

"Do you think they're dead?" Porthos's voice was small and scared, more vulnerable than Aramis had heard in a long time, his defenses stripped away by the concussion.

"Of course they aren't. You'll see. They'll be here soon." Apparently he was convincing enough, for he felt Porthos nod in agreement.

If only he could convince himself.

As he pressed closer to Porthos, seeking warmth, he prayed Athos and D'Artagnan were alive and well, and on their way to rescue them even now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still liking it? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Guilt is the cave, shock is the winding tunnels, and hope is that tiny gleam of light that flickers in the distance. It dances through the settling dust, at once closer and further away, but it's still hope. It has to be, because in that cave, in those tunnels, hope is all you have.

"Hope guides me. Hope is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you."

* * *

Athos dug through the rubble until his hands bled, but even the pain could not drown out the darkness creeping through his veins like poison, clenching his heart in an icy fist. This wasn't the plan. They were supposed to escape the caves and bring help to their brothers.

Not drop the ceiling on them.

Beside him, D'Artagnan shoved aside the rock with single minded determination. "I think we're almost through," he said, his breath coming in harsh pants.

Athos had sent him back to their ambushed camp to look for their weapons as soon as the dust had cleared. God must have smiled upon them, for they were still there. The moment they were armed, they had wordlessly begun to dig, all thoughts of returning to the city fled.

"D'Artagnan," Athos began, the band around his chest tightening at the thought of what needed to be said. "There is a chance they will not be-"

"Don't." D'Artagnan's voice was harsh and rough with grief. "I don't want to hear it, Athos."

Athos nodded mutely and returned to his digging. To be honest, he did not wish to think it, but he had always been the practical one, even when it hurt like glass being ground into his heart.

They had no way of knowing how much damage the cave in had done. They had just cleared the cave when they'd been spotted by a group emerging from a side tunnel. Without weapons, they were easy targets, but D'Artagnan in a fit of inspiration had grabbed the torch from the wall and flung it at the barrels the men were carrying, hoping to cause a distraction.

The lad couldn't have known the barrels were full of gunpowder.

The roof of the cave had collapsed with a crash, spewing dust over them. They'd narrowly avoided being crushed themselves. But they had no way of knowing if Aramis and Porthos had been as lucky.

Athos knew D'Artagnan was telling himself that they were far enough in to have been unaffected, but that wasn't working for him. There was too much that could have gone wrong. They might have been crushed by the rocks, or killed by the bandits that had been alerted to their escape when they dropped the ceiling on half of them, or they could be trapped somewhere they would never be found until it was too late, or…

Athos kept digging.

"I'm through!" D'Artagnan yelled as his hand suddenly sunk through the fallen rocks up to his elbow. Athos quickly dug away the loosened debris, opening a hole large enough to crawl through.

"Let's go," he said, the band around his chest slackening slightly at the prospect of being able to do something at last, but D'Artagnan hesitated, eyeing the makeshift entrance.

"Will it hold?" the boy asked quietly, serious eyes turning to Athos. "We'll both be trapped if it falls again."

Athos stared at him, nonplussed by the sudden wisdom and ashamed for not having thought of that himself. He was supposed to be the leader.

Not that he'd been doing a very good job of it lately.

"You're right," he croaked out, his throat raw from breathing in too much dust. "I need you to find a horse and ride back to Paris. Explain what happened to Treville and bring backup. If the tunnel falls again, you can dig us all out."

"What?" he snapped when the boy did not move.

D'Artagnan gazed at him, clearly torn. "I just- I don't want you to find them alone," he said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Athos felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, hearing the words that went unsaid _._

 _If they are dead, you should not find them alone_.

It was the closest D'Artagnan had come to admitting they might be too late.

Swallowing heavily, Athos managed to say, "I appreciate your concern, but we'll do no one any good if we get ourselves trapped as well. You'd best hurry to Paris. Return as quickly as possible."

D'Artagnan nodded reluctantly and turned away, heading into the woods to search for their escaped mounts.

Athos watched him go, wondering when the lad had grown up. Then he took a deep breath, picked up the torch he'd prepared, and pushed his way through the tiny hole into the dark of the caves.

Barely ten feet in he tripped over a body. A long spire of rock had pinned it to the ground like some obscene needle. Several more were visible in the faint torch light, scattered near the rubble. He knew more must be buried.

Athos moved quickly back down the tunnel, trying to find the room where they'd been held captive to use as a base point to begin his search. It was clear the cave in had been sporadic. Whole sections were untouched, but then he would round a corner and find rubble had fallen haphazardly across the tunnel, sometimes requiring him to dig his way through.

He found the cavern they'd been held in at last and nearly dropped the torch in the face of the grief that swept through him. It was completely buried.

It took him a long minute to remember that they would not have stayed there. He prayed they'd gone far deeper into the caves, even if it would be harder to find them. The deeper he went, the less extensive the damage.

There was no trail to follow, no clue as the where they had gone, so he simply chose a path and hurried down it. For so long he saw nothing but bare walls and broken rock that he almost turned back.

Then he saw the bodies.

Three men lay sprawled across the floor. Two had been killed with a sword, but the third's head had been bashed in with a rock, which lay beside the body. They had not been killed by the cave in, which could mean only one thing.

At least one of his brothers was still alive and fighting.

Hope burned though his heart, and the pain was worse than the grief because he knew how easily it could be extinguished.

He stared down the darkened tunnel past the bodies, wondering how much further they might have gone, when a faint sound from nearby drew his attention. He cocked his head, listening: it came again, a faint shifting from somewhere to his right.

Athos turned and saw the outline of a dark, jagged archway by the light of his torch. The sound came again, louder this time.

Hardly daring to breath, he crossed the few meters to the mouth of the cavern with hasty steps, pausing in the entrance with the torch held high before him.

It was the light that saved his life, casting his face into sharp relief in the darkness. Had he been obscured by shadow, he had no doubt that the pistol pointed unwaveringly at his heart would have been discharged.

Instead, it dropped heavily to the floor. "Athos," Aramis breathed.

The relief hit him like a tidal wave and he all but staggered to reach the seated forms.

"You're alive," he croaked.

Aramis smiled tiredly at him from his position beside Porthos's unconscious form. The expression looked out of place on his too pale face. "It would appear."

Athos's eyes flicked to Porthos, hardly daring to ask. "Is he-?"

A frown marred Aramis's face for a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh, heavens, no." He reached out and shook Porthos sharply, and the larger Musketeer stirred sluggishly.

Not unconscious. Asleep.

He wasn't too late.

Athos could have wept from the relief, but he kept his expression neutral. "Is he alright?" Porthos's reactions seemed slow, and he had yet to focus fully on him.

Aramis scowled. "He took a blow to the head. Another one. I couldn't keep him awake."

Porthos seemed to recognize him at last, jerking forward to clasp his shoulder. The unexpected motion made Aramis groan as he pulled away hastily, trying to keep his leg still. Porthos broke off the movement with a murmured apology, a concerned hand finding Aramis's shoulder. His reactions might be slow, but they were still his. No serious damage.

"I thought you were the injured one," Athos smirked, relief restoring some of his wry humor.

Aramis just glared at him.

"We'd best get you out of here and into the fresh air." Athos was desperate to leave the cloying air of the caves behind him.

Aramis glanced over at Porthos. "Do you think you can walk now?"

The large Musketeer nodded doggedly, rising with only slight amount of unsteadiness. Aramis smiled again, looking relieved. "Oh good. I doubt Athos could carry us both out of here."

Athos shook his head at his friend's unflappable good humor. "Time to go." He lifted Aramis carefully to his feet, wincing at the pained groans the other man failed to hold back. Porthos hovered anxiously, but when he stretched out a hand, Aramis waved it away.

"You'll have enough trouble keeping your own feet. I won't have you pulling us both down with you if you go." His smile lightened the rejection, and after a moment Porthos echoed it sheepishly.

Their progress back out of the caves was painfully slow. Porthos could walk, but only shakily, one hand pressed to the wall in case he grew dizzy while he carried the torch in the other, since Athos had his hands full with Aramis.

Aramis was worse. Even his uninjured leg had grown stiff, and every step seemed to pain him terribly. More than once he blacked out and Athos's arm around his waist was all that kept him upright.

Just outside of their prison cave, Porthos had to stop to be violently sick. While Athos waited for him to finish retching, he thought he felt the earth rumble faintly beneath his boots.

They needed to get out of here.

Two turns away from the exit, it happened again. "Did you feel that?" Aramis asked, sounding worried.

"The cave system is unstable," Athos said tightly, trying to increase his pace but slowing when Aramis gasped in pain. "We need to get out before the whole thing comes down and takes us with it. We need to hurry."

"Oh no, I don't think you'll be going anywhere."

The voice came from just ahead of them, sibilant and cold. Porthos growled immediately and stepped forward, waving the torch to light the tunnel.

Standing just before the final corner, sword drawn, stood the tall, pockmarked man that had broken Aramis's leg.

Porthos growled again and attempted to shove himself off the wall towards the man, hatred and fury written across his dark features, but he wobbled alarmingly and had to clutch it again for support.

The man simply laughed. "I have to admit, I am surprised," he hissed, stepping closer and fixing his eyes on Athos. "I thought you had perished in the cave in."

"Musketeers don't die easily." Athos took a half step towards Porthos, positioning himself with arm's reach of the larger man.

"So I see," was the cold response. "Perhaps we ought to test that theory." The man's smile was merciless. "Once you have fallen, your companions will be easy prey."

It was clear the scarred man had no honor, and he proved it by ignoring all rules of chivalry and attacking without giving him time to draw his sword.

Fortunately, Athos was ready for this. He all but threw Aramis at Porthos, praying his friend would catch him before he passed out, and ripped his own sword free in one smooth motion, circling away to draw the man from his brothers.

The man darted in with a flurry of slashing attacks. Athos parried them easily, searching for a quick way to end this and get out before the ceiling let go. Though the man was not his equal, he was skilled enough to keep Athos breaking through his guard.

Their swords met with another ringing clash and Athos saw an opening. It was not chivalrous; in fact, it was downright vindictive, but it was no more than this man deserved. Thrusting the man back a pace, he whipped his sword down to slash neatly across the place where foot met ankle.

The same spot the man had so ruthlessly broken.

The man dropped to one knee with a cry of pain, and Athos slammed the hilt of his rapier into his temple, knocking him flat. He stepped neatly around the semi-conscious man and pulled Aramis, who had indeed passed out, from Porthos's uncertain grip.

The floor shifted alarmingly. "We need to go, now." Porthos nodded and hurried toward the entrance, dropping the torch to the floor.

Athos glanced back over his shoulder at the man lying on the ground, clutching his head and groaning. Chivalry dictated that he should finish him before the roof did, but then, chivalry was more than he deserved.

He turned his back and walked away.

Porthos was waiting just outside the small opening, and between the two of them they managed to get Aramis through. Athos himself was only just emerging when he heard the heavy crack behind him as the ceiling let go at last. They grabbed Aramis and stumbled away through the fresh dust cloud.

Porthos sunk down heavily against a tree, Aramis cradled protectively in his arms as he stared at the billowing dust. Athos dropped down beside him, relief and exhaustion blending together to sap his remaining strength.

"We made it." Porthos's voice was breathless.

"We did."

"Why are we covered in dust?" This was from Aramis, who had regained consciousness and was staring at the pair of them in confusion.

Athos couldn't help himself. He laughed aloud, and after a moment's delay, Porthos joined him.

"What's so funny?" Aramis demanded indignantly.

Porthos howled. Athos clutched at his sides, laughing as he hadn't laughed in years. After a minute of this, Aramis's lips twitched, and then he too was laughing delightedly.

That was how Treville and D'Artagnan found them when they thundered into the clearing not five minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all, folks. What did you think of it? Was the ending to abrupt? I could be persuaded to write an epilogue if there was any interest, but I have several in progress fics to frantically work on first :)


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